Remember Me
by samptra
Summary: He never really believed in fate or destiny…until he met a skinny blonde kid.
1. Part 1

Disclaimer: Don't own, Marvel does. Just going to borrow the boys for my own nefarious purposes.

Genres: Romance, war, tragedy

Story: He never really believed in fate or destiny…until he met a skinny blond kid.

Author's Note: This is a repost, now I officially have an awesome new beta! Going to try and get through some of my stories to clean them up ease of reading. So I hope you'll bare with me while we get this cleaned up and posted!

THANK YOU TO MY AWESOME NEW BETA RAVINGBEAUTY!

_Dedicated to those who have and still serve this country; we remember._

Remember Me

Part 1 – _In war, there are no unwounded soldiers. _ - José Narosky

November 11, 1942 – North Africa

"Are we really to report to _his _unit?" a kid with nervous blue eyes in a very young face asked his companion.

The other young man, unable to answer, swallowed the bile rising in his throat and tried not to look at the bodies stacked around them, bloated in the heat of the sun. "Y-yes," he whispered, turning his eyes to his boots, vainly trying to hold down his meager breakfast.

The pair weaved in and out of the camp, each silently thankful they had missed the battle two days prior. Wounded men were still waiting for treatment, exposed to the elements and time. Others with hollow eyes passed them by, blood-splattered and confused.

They asked those sitting around idly in the sun, the name well known amongst the men already. Almost by accident they stumbled upon the one they were looking for, or at least the general area where he was located. Officers of rank massing around an upturned crate that acted as a table, muttering and pointing to a map.

"Lieutenant Stark, sir?" the braver of the two spoke up in a voice that was barely a squeak, waiting to see who would respond. They watched with trepidation as a man straightened, turning to face them. He approached the pair, dark eyes squinting in the bright sun. Casually he pulled his cigarette from cracked lips, exhaling blue smoke.

"Orders," the man said briskly, monotone, waiting as they nervously handed over the crumpled papers. The two youngsters studied the man they had already heard so much about, remembering the stories already making the rounds in the rumor mills. Lieutenant Stark was fearless in battle, cool as a cucumber, an officer you wanted leading you.

Gossip had said the man was six foot, muscular, and ate Nazis for breakfast. The man before them was maybe five foot eleven, sinewy and wiry, his face scruffy and solemn, combats dirty and bloodstained. He looked at them, dark eyes unfathomable.

"Report to your Sergeant, get your bunking orders. We move out in a day," he said, handing back their papers. Watching as they scuttled off, throwing him awe-filled glances.

Dismissing the interruption from his mind, the man currently the subject of great speculation ran a grimy hand through short brown hair. Beyond tired at the moment, he slowly turned back to the others gathered around the map.

"We're already behind," Lieutenant Mansworth grumbled, pointing to a red line denoting the last known German position. "We were supposed to be past that already."

Stark arched a brow. "It's the military…when are we ever on time?" he asked dryly, impassive face never changing, stubbing out the end of his smoke. "Our real issue right now is lack of supplies and men… the last two days have drained us."

Quick, intelligent eyes under all that dirt were moving in thought. They needed to rendezvous with the 107th and push this line up. Operation Torch had been, technically, a victory for the Allies in this new theatre of operation. The lines of the Western Front had been drawn, but it had come at a terrible cost. Worst of all, Lieutenant Anthony Stark had a terrible feeling this was only the beginning. It was only going to get worse.

-#-#-#-

September 15, 1943 - Italy

It hurt…god, how it hurt. Dazed brown eyes stared upwards at the clear blue sky, seeming to stretch out endlessly. He could still vaguely hear the pop of rifle fire, but right now the thudding of his own heart seemed to be the loudest.

There were faces in his line of sight, blocking his view of the vast blueness. He knew somewhere in his hazy mind it was his men tugging at his jacket. He could feel the pressure of their hands holding compresses to god knew how many wounds. He could see their mouths moving, but he wasn't hearing anything anymore. Instead the dark-haired man was trying to recall the name of this town, Ortana wasn't it?

He coughed weakly, blood bubbling between his lips. He should be scared, crying out at the unfairness of this war and this world, angry that his brother was right. Howard had been right. When he'd told his older brother he'd joined up, he'd called him an idealistic fool. It was getting harder to hold onto those thoughts now; things were hazy and distant.

He was very tired now; maybe he'd just close his eyes for a moment and rest.

-#-#-#-

November 30, 1943 – New York City

"Wait, please…" the skinny, pale blond looked from the man to his rubber stamp and back, "Just please, give me a chance." Blue eyes were too big on his narrow, angular face.

"Look son, I'm saving your life." He brought that dreaded stamp down with a loud bang of finality. It was a sound that was all too familiar and one Steven Rogers had become resigned to hearing. Five times, five separate enlistment offices, five rejections. Dejected, the small skinny man dressed, feeling lower than a worm. Hearing the men around him speak of their new assignments and shipping off to boot camp. He clenched his teeth hard, tasting the metallic bite of blood.

Presentable, he slunk out of the office, wandering aimlessly until he stopped outside a movie house. With nothing better to do and wanting to forget about his own miserable existence for a while, he headed in. Steve would not get to finish the movie.

He grunted as the fist cracked him again, sending his skinny frame into the garbage of the alley. Steve staggered to his feet, fists coming up as the big angry man before him decked him once more. One thing Steve had never lacked was courage, just the size to back it up. He pulled up a garbage can lid, holding it before him like some flimsy shield, only to be hit again. Wincing, he staggered to his feet.

"Stay down!" the man bellowed.

Steve shook his head, "I can do this all day." He raised his fists feebly, blinking in confusion when the big man suddenly crumpled to the ground.

"Still fighting in alleys?" came an amused, breathless voice.

Steve instantly grinned, recognizing the brunet. "Bucky," he acknowledged. Lowering his pitiful guard, he brushed himself off and walked towards his best friend, finally noting he was wearing his uniform, looking smart and dashing… everything Steve wished he could be. "Get your orders?" the smaller man asked, jealously creeping into his tone.

"Ship out tomorrow, so tonight you're coming with me," Bucky replied. Groaning, Steve allowed his friend to poke and prod him away from the alley and out into the busy New York streets.

"Bucky!" a very excited, very feminine voice called out, a woman waving wildly at him from the top of the stair. Beside her, looking avidly at the approaching pair was a second woman.

Steve sighed. "What did you tell her about me?" he asked, resigned to another night of being ignored by women as they vied for his friend's attention.

Bucky just grinned at him, "Come on, we'll show them a good time, take them dancing… enjoy the night." Steve wished he were a hundred other places.

"Hello," the woman said politely, looking down at him.

"Hello," Steve mumbled back, embarrassed. He glanced at Bucky as he held out his arms for the women, leading towards the entrance of the large building. Steve, following some distance behind, dragging his feet as he glanced upwards, "Stark Expo Tonight." He frowned; he'd read about this Howard Stark, some rich genius.

The place was full of curious people oohing and ahhing over the 'Visions of the Future.'

Steve barely registered anything around him. Everywhere were men dressed in uniform, men serving their country proudly. It made his heart lurch, guilt and shame burning his stomach; why wouldn't they let him enlist?

Bucky and the women paused, watching the main stage where dancing girls surrounded a car. Howard Stark, the inventor himself, was showing off something about a 'hovering car.' Steve snickered a bit when the thing collapsed, the enigmatic man fobbing it off with a laugh; it was a work in progress after all.

Show over, the girls and Bucky were moving again, seemingly excited about the car, marveling at the newness of it. Looking forward to the promise of the future.

Steve, still lost in his own inner turmoil, turned to follow only to run smack into a man. Being so skinny and slight, he ricocheted off the taller, broader man. A strong hand reached out to steady him. "Whoa, easy there," a deep voice said softly.

Embarrassed at his own clumsy behavior, blue eyes looking upwards, Steve opening his mouth to stammer out his apology. "I'm sorry, wasn't looking whe-," he trailed off, finally getting a good look at the man he'd bumped into.

He was tall, but not overly so, his frame muscular and sinewy. What caught Steve's attention, as usual, was his uniform and the medals pinned to his chest. Steve skimmed the ribbons before moving to his face. Strong, angular, a hint of a five o'clock shadow on his cheeks and chin, eyes a deep brown steadily peered at him. He was very handsome, the smaller man thought idly, save for one flaw, an angry red scar cutting across his cheek from almost his ear to the left hand corner of his mouth.

"No apologies necessary," the man said as he offered a big, worn-looking hand, "Anthony, call me Tony."

The small blonde took his hand, shaking the callused palm, "Steve."

Tony Stark was suddenly glad his pain in the ass brother had dragged him out to his vanity show. As he shook the hand of the small, frail-looking man, something about him caught his attention. Large blue eyes, sandy blond locks, a little pale and small… it wasn't his appearance, though. There was an inner light within the man. Releasing the hand, Tony tucked his arms behind him, automatically falling into parade rest.

"Come for the show?" Tony asked politely, not wanting the meeting to end.

"Not really, here with my friend," Steve answered.

Tony saw blue eyes looking at his chest again; he sighed when he glanced down, remembering the Purple Heart. Resigned, he waited until those enthralling eyes looked up at him again, "They gave it to me for failing to get my stupid self out of the line of fire." Steve's eyes widened.

"You…you've been there?" Steve asked eagerly, stepping closer to the taller man.

"Yes, on leave right now," Tony tilted his head, wondering why the man seemed so eager.

"Is it…is it bad? Over there, I mean," Steve asked softly, suddenly embarrassed, wondering why he had asked at all.

Tony generally didn't like to talk about it. Not even in his own mind. For this complete stranger though, he found himself answering, "Yes." Steve nodded, feeling silly asking such personal questions. "Thinking of joining up?" Tony winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. What an absurd thing to say; if the man had a lick of sense, he'd run far and fast.

"I've tried…about five times now. Keep rejecting me," Steve answered. There was an awkward silence. "What are you doing at the show?" Steve wasn't sure why, but he wanted to keep talking to this man. Granted he was in awe – he had a purple heart pinned to his chest, after all – but more than that, there was something indefinable.

"Just watching the grandstander there," Tony joked, pointing over his shoulder to where his brother was making time with the ladies. Tony knew he should probably get back to the recruiting office; he had just stepped out to watch his brother show off a bit.

"Howard Stark? Yeah, he is a bit of a show-off," Steve smiled.

Tony returned it in a fashion, his new scar pulling tight. Glancing at his watch, he winced; he really needed to get back. "I have to get back, it was very nice meeting you, Steve," he held out his hand again and the small man took it.

"You, too… good luck," Steve said softly.

Nodding, the dark and somewhat solemn man gave him a brief salute before disappearing into the crowd. Steve watched him leave suddenly feeling like he'd missed something, like he'd let something slip through his fingers. Shaking it off, he turned to try and find Bucky.

Tony was kicking himself all the way back to the enlistment office. "Stupid," he mumbled, ignoring the look he got from the woman at the front desk. Hell with her, let them think his mind had been addled in combat, it didn't bother him.

"Lieutenant," a distinctly German voice greeted from nearby.

"Oh, hey Doc," he replied.

The older man smiled, "How did Howard do?"

Tony snorted, "His car fell apart." Doctor Erskine chuckled.

"Any promising candidates?" the German changed the subject smoothly, glancing at the files on the desk.

"A few, basic will tell," Tony answered as he sat, removing his cover.

"Ahhh, yes," the older man mumbled, picking up the folders and moving away.

Tony shook his head, not a hundred percent sure he was on board with this plan… a super soldier? The idea seemed too fantastic for him…

The future was Howard's department; he dealt in the now. The now was meeting an intriguing man and not asking him for a drink. He closed his eyes in pain, telling his mind to shut up. Men weren't allowed to like other men. It was sick, wrong… and you didn't talk about it. You kept your mouth shut and went out with women. You didn't tarnish the family name.

He wasn't going to be the younger brother who ruined his big brother's reputation. They were all each other had in the world, and he wasn't going to lose that. Howard was a show-off, loud, and flashy, the one everyone talked of. Tony was the complete opposite, solemn and serious.

Still, he couldn't help day dreaming a little; if he'd been more courageous he may have asked the small blond for a drink, and maybe, just maybe, he would have said yes.

Putting the matter out of his mind, Tony managed to get through some paperwork. Wearily, he gathered the folders off his desk, feeling the pull in his shoulder briefly, wincing at the short, sharp pain. He clenched and unclenched his fist, not completely healed yet. He grunted in annoyance, he just wanted to get back to the front.

He wasn't used to being back home; things were more complicated here. Combat was not. He frowned, maybe the doctors were right, shell shock. Still, he had every intention of returning to the front and his unit.

Dropping the files with the secretary, he heard raised voices from the entrance. Curious he walked towards the commotion, noticing the Doc, too, was eavesdropping on the conversation. He glanced at Erskine, then at the two friends arguing. Eyes widened as he recognized that skinny, blond frame. Tony put his head down, listening, and smiled – the kid had serious grit. Turning to the Doc, he silently pointed. "Him," he mouthed as the friends wished each other luck.

Tony smiled. He wasn't a big believer in fate and destiny; he wanted to think that he was in control of his own future… but he was beginning to think some higher power could be at work here.


	2. Part 2

Author's Note: Second part up, newer better and easier to read! Thanks to my beta who's been a busy bee. Awesome work ravingbeauty!

Remember Me

Part 2: 

_Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many, to so few._

– Winston Churchill

It still felt like some dream. Standing in the bright morning sun, Steve squared his narrow chest, straightening as tall as his curved spine would allow, trying to ignore that the men to his right and left towered above his slight frame.

"Gentlemen," a woman in uniform approached, her red lips a striking contrast to her neat appearance. Pretty girl, Steve thought idly, watching as she clocked one of the mouthier recruits. Grinning as the bully was flattened, he stood up straight in formation; tough girl.

"Breaking in the new recruits, I see," a new voice called as a jeep skidded to a halt before them. Several figures disembarked, one of which Steve was very surprised to find he recognized.

Eyes widening, he focused on the sinewy figure. The Colonel was speaking, but Steve wasn't listening – he was watching Tony. His uniform looked faded and well-worn, sleeves rolled to his elbows in the heat. He didn't look like any of the other soldiers Steve had seen running around, uniforms neatly done up and pressed.

"Lieutenant Stark, here, will be joining you," the Colonel continued. "Try to keep up."

Steve frowned. Did he say Lieutenant Stark? The man in question was moving down the line then, glancing them over, pausing here and there. His face was expressionless, that wicked scar along his cheek adding to his fearsome countenance. Lieutenant Stark did not look like someone to be trifled with.

Steve caught his eye and, for the briefest of moments, he thought the man's mouth might have twitched.

"Ragged-looking lot, Colonel," Stark commented, tugging a smoke out of his pocket and lighting up.

The older man snorted, "Let's whip them into shape."

Steve was dragging already and the others were not going easy on him.

Tony watched it all, face impassive, though it was rather painful to witness. Ninety pounds soaking wet, Steve Rogers was not physically meant for the army – but he had determination.

He watched as one of the others pushed Steve on the rope climb, sending him tumbling down for about the third time. Unable to help himself, Tony stubbed out his current cigarette. Lean limbs moving quickly, he climbed up the rope faster than any of the others.

Reaching the top, Tony grabbed the perpetrator by the neck. Out of earshot of Steve, who was lying wheezing on the ground below, he hissed, "When you treat the men at your back as your enemy, you won't live through day one." The recruit looked frightened, as he damn well should. It didn't matter if a man in your unit was ninety pounds or one hundred and ninety – he was your brother.

Releasing him, Tony looped the rope around his leg and dropped gracefully to the ground, not even winded. He paused beside the still prone man, lighting another smoke.

"I can look after myself," Steve panted, glaring up into dark eyes.

"I know you can, but it never hurts to have someone in your corner," Tony replied softly, shoving hands in his pockets as he walked towards Agent Carter.

-#-

Steve lay in his cot that night, body aching. He'd been in camp one day; he should be sleeping, dead to the world from exhaustion. His mind wouldn't settle, though, whether from nerves or fear. Wincing he slowly, silently, slipped out of bed; a trip to the bathroom and then he'd sleep, he promised weak legs.

Clad in no more than a white t-shirt and sweat pants, he exited the barracks. The night was chilly making him shiver, dog tags clinking softly.

"Running off already?" an amused voice to his right startled him.

Steve nearly came out of his skin. Wheezing, he clutched his chest as he turned to look at the solemn face of Lieutenant Stark. The man sat with his back against the barracks, face illuminated by the burning glow of his cigarette. "No, I was just going…" Steve sighed.

Tony patted the ground beside him and the skinny blond sat heavily. "I don't sleep much either," the officer confided, staring up at the clear night sky. "Too quiet here. I need mortar fire and tank rounds." The blond shook his head, saying nothing for a long time.

"I did terrible today, didn't I?" he asked. Tony shrugged noncommittally. Steve sighed heavily, heart dropping; they were going to kick him out before the week's end.

"I don't think the measure of a man comes from the size of his muscles," the combat soldier said softly.

Steve looked at him, smiling a little, "You really think so?"

Nodding, Tony stubbed out his butt, resting his hands on his knees as they sat in companionable silence.

Finally, Tony moved; standing slowly, stiffly, he held out a hand to help the small man up. "You need sleep. Tomorrow we do it all over again," he said. Nodding, the younger man held the warm, callused palm a little longer than necessary. "Don't give up," Tony said softly before he was off.

Steve frowned, confused; he felt warm and fluttery, but that wasn't right, was it?

-#-

It became their evening ritual; every night Steve would creep out of the barracks to find the man sitting outside the door or somewhere nearby.

Sometimes they would sit and enjoy the night; others, they would talk quietly. Steve learned that Tony had been in the first wave of Operation Torch in North Africa, among the first to put boots to ground in the European Theatre. He also learned why the man was here and not there – he'd been grievously wounded in Italy. Barely surviving, he had been shipped home to recuperate.

Tony, in turn, learned about the skinny kid from Brooklyn with no family, few friends, and more courage than anyone he'd ever seen.

As they sat together on that fourth night, there was a tension between them, thick and heavy. Tomorrow they would decide and Steve would either be given a chance or sent packing.

He could feel his heart thump painfully in his chest, unsure whether it was from the looming decision or from proximity to Tony. The more time he spent with this man, the stranger he felt. All the times Bucky had dragged him around with dames, he had never felt the way he did when he was with Tony. His new emotions made him nervous and unsure as he struggled to come to terms with what was happening.

Steve glanced at the man sitting beside him, wondering not for the first time what it'd be like to kiss those lips, to run a finger across that scar, to see the scars hidden by his uniform. A sudden compulsion to climb into Tony's lap and give into those desires possessed him, but he fought it. Men weren't supposed to like other men.

Pushing his thoughts away, Steve cleared his throat, "Been meaning to ask, you any relation to Howard Stark?"

Chuckling, the other man looked up at the sky, "He's my older brother by a year or so."

Steve nodded, surprised. Tony looked older than Howard, but then again, war seemed to age men before their time. He rarely smiled, this man, face solemn and serious. Watching him, Steve slipped a little in his resolution.

The night was still and quiet; brown eyes closed peacefully only to snap open when a hand touched his face, tracing the scar stretching across his cheek.

"I'm-I-I'm…" Steve stuttered, attempting to apologize. What had possessed him to give into that compulsion? He'd just thought Tony looked quite handsome in the moonlight and the next thing…

"It's ok," Tony said softly. He turned to Steve, trying to quiet his own pounding heart, wondering if perhaps this crush he had wasn't so futile after all. Slowly, giving the smaller man time to pull away, Tony leaned forward, pressing his chapped lips to Steve's own.

Blue eyes wide, Steve stunned, didn't respond to the short, chaste kiss.

Though it was as if the man had been reading his mind, Tony had caught him completely off guard – his first kiss with a man… his first kiss with anyone, for that matter. Steve felt like he should be angry or sickened, like everyone said… but he wasn't. As a matter of fact, he wanted to do it again.

Confused and scared, he stood quickly and took off back to the barracks, not looking back.

Tony watched him go, heart sinking low in his chest. "That went well," he sighed, running a hand through dark locks. He pulled out another smoke, lighting up as he exhaled wearily. Maybe he'd misread the situation yet again.

Tony gave himself a self-deprecating smile; he'd known from the start he wasn't like other boys. Sure, he'd played along in high school, pretending to like girls, taking them out, having a girlfriend. Girls, though, had done nothing for him; his preference was men – a secret he guarded zealously. And now he'd gone and messed up the closest thing he'd had to a relationship.

He rested his head on his raised knees. Closing tired eyes, he sighed; well, after tomorrow he'd probably never see Steve again anyway.

-#-

"I can't believe you, doctor," Colonel Phillips griped. "When you wanted to bring a ninety-pound asthmatic onto my base, I let it slide. Thought he'd be some kind of gerbil for you. I didn't think you'd actually consider him."

The doctor snorted, "He is the clear choice."

Tony leaned against the truck, listening to the men argue. Watching Peggy run the recruits through calisthenics. "He has my vote as well," Tony said, watching the blond struggle through push-ups, followed by what was, without a doubt, the most pathetic attempt at a jumping jack he'd ever seen.

"He's making me cry, Doc. Look at him. You stick a needle in him it's going to go right through his arm," the Colonel continued. Tony chuckled; it was probably true. "Why not Hodge? He's big, he's tough, he follows orders…"

Doctor Erskine frowned, "He's a bully… I'm not looking at the physical, Colonel."

Tony exhaled a cloud of smoke, "I've had the privilege of leading men in two campaigns, Colonel… I'd rather lead a group of Rogers than Hodges."

Phillips said nothing for a moment. "It's about courage," he growled abruptly. Grabbing a dummy grenade, he popped the pin and tossed it into the middle of the men. "Grenade!" he yelled, watching the men scatter for cover.

All but one, that is.

Without thought, Steve threw himself atop the munitions, yelling for the others to get away.

The Colonel looked pissed, Doc looked pleased, and Tony was doing something he rarely did – he was smiling.

"Is this a test?" the confused blond asked, looking from Agent Carter to the three men. As Colonel Phillips turned away with a grunt, Tony caught Steve's blue eyes and gave the small man a wink. As Tony turned to follow the Colonel, he wondered if the sudden flush on Steve's face had to do with the embarrassment of jumping on a dummy grenade or his wink.

-#-

Just like that, the decision had been made, all the men dispersed to their new units save one.

Steve sat alone with his thoughts in the now empty barracks; the Doc had come to see him earlier, trying to be reassuring. Now though, alone with his thoughts, he mulled over tomorrow. No one knew how or even if this was going to work, or whether he'd survive it. He looked down at hands that trembled slightly; there was a serious chance he'd die tomorrow.

A soft knock at the door drew his attention. He looked up as a familiar, dark head poked around the door.

"Steve," Tony called as he spotted the man sitting on his cot, looking pensive and drawn.

"Tony," the small man breathed, smiling.

Tony entered the empty room, coming to sit across from the skinny man on an empty cot. "How you feeling?" he asked.

Steve shrugged. "Scared, I guess… I may not survive this," he said quietly.

Tony cocked his head to the side, scar pulling as he smiled, "I tell myself that all the time."

As the moments crept by, the silence grew tense and heavy with things left unsaid.

Lieutenant Tony Stark, who could storm a German machine gun nest, was afraid to tell this small, unassuming man that he was head over heels for him. Steve haunted both his dreams and his waking moments; he wanted him like nothing he'd ever wanted before.

"I… I umm…" Tony drew a breath and exhaled sharply, "I'm leaving tomorrow." The blond head snapped up as Steve stared at him intently. "I ship out first thing in the morning… I'm going back to the line, Steve," Tony said softly. "Back to my men." A sudden panic welled up in Steve, he didn't want Tony to go… he didn't want to lose him, he hadn't thought for a moment they were going to be separated. "I was commissioned to help choose the right man for the job, and I did."

Steve's blue eyes were too big for that pale, narrow face. Adrenaline pounding now, he acted on instinct. Without stopping to consider the consequences, he was in Tony's lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, mashing their lips together so hard their teeth clacked.

Surprised, Tony blinked, hesitating a bare second before he wrapped his strong arms around the thin figure. Returning the fervent kiss. Neither stopped to consider what would come after; they just knew that now, tonight, they needed each other.

Steve, who had never been kissed until Tony, was learning fast as Tony plundered his mouth. The taller man tasted of tobacco and toothpaste – an odd combination, Steve thought in passing.

Tony began moving, his hands hesitantly running across Steve's white cotton shirt, sliding under the hem to touch that pale, slender frame. Following Tony's lead, Steve returned the favor, running hands under the other's t-shirt, as the kiss grew heated and intense.

Parting, they rested their heads together for a moment, breathing hard. Tony tugged his shirt off first. Steve was about to do the same, paused when he saw the scars marring the well-muscled form. Three round, puckered wounds – bullet holes – and long scars on his arms and torso. "Tony," he whispered, touching the too shiny skin, feeling the other man shiver and shudder.

Then long arms reached out, tugging off Steve's shirt; naked skin pressed together, warm and alive. Steve wrapped thin legs around Tony's waist, gasping when he felt something hard pressing back against him. Once again acting on instinct, he arched against the other man, grinding their hips together, gasping as the delicious friction rippled through him.

Tony held firm to narrow hips as they moved together – both inexperienced, but enthusiastic. It was Steve who came first. Overwhelmed with new feelings, he ground against Tony once more before giving a small cry, feeling a warm wetness spread across his boxers. Tony, spurred on by the small man's erratic movements, found his release soon after, the front of his trousers soaking through.

Tony gathered Steve close as the other man collapsed against him. Holding on tightly, Steve closed his eyes and pressed his face to Tony's warm neck. For a few moments they only breathed chests heaving with emotion. The silence stretched on until finally Steve pulled back, eyes wide and sad.

"I'll write you," Tony promised with a soft smile, kissing Steve's swollen lips again… wanting to promise him that everything would be alright. "We'll see each other again," he said in a whisper.

Steve nodded slowly. "I'll write you, too," he promised.

Tony brushed back blond hair, "I'd better let you get some sleep, big day tomorrow." Steve nodded with a half smile.

Disentangling, they shrugged back into their shirts, unable to keep from kissing several more times. They eventually parted, hands slow to let go. There was nothing more they could say, no promises of forever to be made, no declarations of love and devotion… They were two men in a war; each had a duty and there was no guarantee of tomorrow for either of them.

Steve watched, heart heavy, as the rugged form disappeared into the darkness, feeling suddenly and acutely alone. He changed his boxer shorts before climbing back into bed. His mind a mess – his head was telling him he shouldn't fall in love with a man… with Tony, but his heart was telling him he already had.


	3. Part 3

Author's Note: Here we are, part three freshly beta'd by the spectacular ravingbeauty. Thanks so much for getting it all done and making it look so pretty.

Remember Me

Part 3:

_War does not determine who is right - only who is left. - Bertrand Russell_

May 23, 1944 - Italy

"Mail, sirs." The young private approached the officers sitting around and eating what may have, at one point, been food.

Eager, a dark-haired man looked up from his tasteless potato soup. He'd been waiting for mail for months. Since returning to his unit on the front lines in Italy, Lieutenant Stark had been in heavy combat, only receiving two letters when the mail managed to reach him.

One was from his brother, a single page briefly telling him the serum had been a complete success and of the terrible events following. Tony had been saddened to hear of the doctor's death; Erskine had been a good man. The world sorely needed good men, especially now.

The other had been from Steve, a full five pages detailing the events following his transformation, his chase through the streets of New York, and how he was now doing an USO show. Tony had loved it – it was almost like reading an adventure story.

He had written back to the blond quite a bit. Every time they'd hit a lull in combat, he wrote long, rambling letters about nothing in particular. How could you explain to someone that you were in a blown-out house, staring down at the rats feasting upon the now dead inhabitants?

Unable to post the letters until about a week ago, he'd been eager for his own mail to catch up to him. They had been pulled back from the front for a rest and Tony had been vainly hoping he'd get something everyday since.

Now, as the Private handed over a bundle of letters, he felt his lips turn up in a half grin. His men looking on in shock – Lieutenant Stark did not grin. Taking the pile, he nodded his thanks and retreated to his soup.

"Wish my girl wrote me so much," one of his Corporals joked.

Tony didn't bother to answer him, just pinned him with a no-nonsense glare that quelled the youth. Turning his attention back to the papers, he shuffled through the well-worn envelopes and separated them out. Three were from his brother, while the rest were all in Steve's writing. Eagerly, he found the one with the earliest postmark and began to read.

It took him the majority of the day to get through them all. It was a day where he wasn't filthy, tired, and hungry; where he wasn't constantly on edge, waiting for orders that could be his last.

Instead, he was with Steve, knocking out Hitler, starring in a movie. He warmed as the man spoke of his fears and his frustration at being stuck doing USO shows… he'd even included a small doodle of a monkey dancing in costume. Tony shook his head at that; hell, he'd gladly do USO shows, though he'd probably scare off more people than he'd recruit.

Steve had even sent him a photo of himself now, Captain America in costume… Tony had nearly passed out. The black and white photo didn't do him justice, but he could still see Steve was taller and broader, his muscles bunching under the costume. Despite the change, however, Tony could still tell it was Steve – his Steve.

The second picture showed the now ridiculously handsome blond in his dress uniform. It did crazy things to Tony's heart and other parts of his anatomy. The guy was a knockout. Shifting on the hard, rubble-strewn ground, Tony swallowed thickly and carefully tucked the photos away in his inner pockets.

The most recent letter, however, had Tony worrying his lip. Steve was in Europe… or at least had been at the time he'd sent the letter. He was doing shows and apparently not receiving a very warm reception. Tony couldn't understand why – he'd rather watch Steve than the girls.

The end of the letter, however, was what had him worrying. Men had been captured, including his friend Bucky, and Captain America had to go do what was necessary. The last part was hastily scribbled, as if he'd been in a hurry.

Closing his dark eyes, Tony exhaled blue smoke. He hadn't wanted Steve in this war.

Snorting, he took another puff from his last remaining cigarette and reread the letter. "It's war," he finally mumbled, tucking the paper safely away – and if Captain America was going to fight then, by god, the Nazis had better be scared.

-#-

June 1, 1944 - England

Tony had never felt so out of place. People rushed around him in their smart little uniforms, clean and pressed, looking like they had a purpose. Some paused to give him a curious look. Others looked like they were going to kick him out before they noticed his less-than-clean appearance and vicious scar and thought better of it.

Sighing self-consciously, he looked down as his uniform. Tony couldn't remember the last time it had been cleaned, couldn't remember the last time _he'd_ been really clean, for that matter.

His unit had been pulled out of Italy several days ago and sent to England. A big operation was in the works. One they were saying was going to give the Nazis the boot in the ass. As a result he was to spend the next five days in some sort of training and planning for the offensive.

Having landed no more than an hour ago, he'd immediately tried to seek out his brother, who was usually tucked away in some secret lab. Finding said top-secret location had been a pain in the ass. He was here now, though, and trying to find Howard seemed to be like pulling teeth.

Truth be told, he was kind of hoping Steve was around; he knew from his brother that the now famous Captain America was based out of the same facility. Following his amazing POW rescue, the story had fast become legend. The man's exploits were having an amazing effect on the men on the line; he gave them hope.

Grumbling and irritated, Tony popped a cigarette in his mouth; he was about to light it when he caught sight of a familiar face. "Agent Carter!" he called, shouldering his duffle. Curious, the woman turned, face lighting when she saw who it was.

"Lieutenant Stark," she smiled at him widely with her perfect red lips. "What brings you here? Last I heard you were in Italy."

Mouth twisting in a half-smile, he shrugged, "Pulled out for an upcoming offensive."

Her smile began to fade then, "Your unit is…"

He nodded, face betraying nothing; Peggy's, however, was telling him everything.

A moment later she was neutral once more, "Come, I'll take you to Howard's lab."

Tony followed, ignoring stares and whispers as they navigated through the impossible maze of corridors and hallways.

She paused outside a wide set of doors. "Here you are," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I will see you later, Tony," she reached out, clasping his worn hand in hers.

The dark-haired man nodded and watched her depart before turning to enter his brother's lab.

Pushing open the door slowly, he glanced around curiously. The place was chaos, the very latest in technological equipment scattered around. Ruefully Tony shook his head, spotting a familiar someone hunched over a table.

"No hug for your little brother?" he teased, pleased to see the shocked expression on face. The inventor hesitated a heartbeat before rushing to him, gripping the taller man in a tight hug.

"Tony!" he cried as the soldier returned his embrace. "It's good to see you, little brother," he mumbled before pulling back, eyes suspiciously moist. "I think you lost weight, wasting away."

Tony held his emotions in check, "I think you've gained enough for the both of us."

Laughing, Howard threw a warm arm around him, "This is cause for celebration! We're going to the pub!"

-#-

The place was packed. Civilians and soldiers alike drank and caroused, for there was a good chance there would be no tomorrow.

Tony sipped his beer sparingly; he'd never been much of a drinker, preferring to have his wits about him. Howard was another story; several drinks in and he was regaling his little brother with his tale of heroism during the daring rescue.

Laughing, Tony gently nudged his brother, "You did good."

Snorting, Howard drained his pint and motioned for another, "Not like you, brother… I see the reports coming through Phillips' desk."

The mood suddenly turned serious; in the crowded and rowdy bar, the pair seemed to be encompassed in a world of their own.

"I know, you know… why you do it," Howard said softly, looking up from the bar top to meet the dark eyes of his younger sibling. On the defensive, Tony watched his one remaining family member closely. Though the alcohol had loosened his lips, Howard looked at him gravely, "You are still my brother, no matter what… and I'll love you, no matter what." Howard smiled at him softly before reaching out an arm to pull him close. "No matter what," he reiterated.

Howard never said it outright, but Tony knew – he knew what he was talking about. With those simple words, with the acceptance of the one man he held above all others, Tony felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest.

He closed his eyes a brief moment, smiling slowly. The genuine smile made the solemn man look years younger. "Thank you," he said, meaning it with all his heart.

"I just wish you had someone…" Howard said, looking at him mournfully.

Tony chuckled. "You going to fix me up?" he teased.

Howard looked back at him, a light gleaming in his eyes.

"Oh, no…" Tony backtracked, fighting the laughter that bubbled up in his chest, but Howard was already off, describing several men he knew in detail.

Across the smoky, poorly lit bar, a handsome blond was speaking in low tones to a rather motley collection of men. To an outside observer they seemed to come to a consensus before the big man moved to the bar, ordering another round.

Waiting for the liquor, the men at the table noticed a familiar face on the other side of the room. "Hey, isn't that Stark over there? Who's the guy with the scar sitting with him?" one asked. The others turned, several recognizing the rather distinctive man.

"That, my friend, is Lieutenant Stark…and probably the only man in this army that could give Cap a run for his money." The others were intrigued as the man continued; "I ended up under his command in North Africa for a while. Man is a hero. Cool under fire… and crazier then a shit house rat." They laughed heartily at that, clinking glasses together in a toast.

Just then a woman drew their attention as she passed by, a vision in red. All eyes on her, Agent Peggy Carter walked directly up to Captain Steve Rogers, completely ignoring those around her.

Tony had noticed Peggy the instant she arrived; survival on the front line was all about awareness of your surroundings. Curious, he watched her. She was a woman on a mission.

His dark eyes followed as she stepped up to someone on the far side of the bar, hidden from his view by a post. She spoke with whomever briefly before turning, hips swinging as she sauntered out again.

Amused, Tony watched to see if the man she spoke to would appear – and when he did, Tony's world stopped. The breath left his chest all at once as the noise of the pub faded to an indistinct roar. The figure was tall, broad, blond, and beautiful – Steve Rogers.

No, not Steve… Captain America.

Laughing blue eyes looked up just then – and as they locked eyes across the bar, everything else seemed to fall away. It was just the two of them, alone in this place and time, separated by no more than fifteen feet. Neither moved for the longest of moments.

Tony blinked first, breaking the spell. He was off his stool in an instant and circling the bar, only to be met halfway and scooped up into a bone-crushing hug, not even caring when his somewhat tender ribs protested.

Steve could not believe his eyes. When he'd seen the man sitting at the bar, he'd thought it was his imagination playing tricks, taunting him. But Tony was here, real flesh and blood in his arms.

They separated, the now smaller man having to look up at the blond. "What happened to you?" he teased.

Steve grinned, "I joined the army." Laughing, Tony shook his head. Steve was still grinning stupidly, "What are you doing here? Your last letter said you were in Italy."

Nodding, the brunet was unable to keep his eyes from running over the man… it had been so long. And Steve had changed. In a second, though, he'd known that Steve was still Steve – that skinny, awkward kid with heart to spare, that kid he'd fallen for head over heels for. "Big offensive coming and my unit was pulled. I have five days of briefing and training before we go."

Listening, Steve frowned. Having just returned himself, he hadn't heard about this and made a mental note to look into it.

"So where you staying?" the blond asked as his light eyes skimmed over the man in front of him. Tony looked thinner, paler, tired. His dark hair now sported a few strands of gray at the temples. Steve's eyes lingered on his chapped, split lips.

Steve wanted to kiss him so badly.

Since that night they had parted, Tony had never been far from his thoughts. Worrying about him constantly, hearing about his daring escapades from Howard, Steve had kept track as Lieutenant Stark made a name for himself.

"No idea. Was going to see if Howard knew some good hotels around…" Tony looked sheepish; he probably should have found accommodations first.

"No, you're staying with me," Steve countered. Resolute, he turned to Howard, who had weaved his way over to the pair. "Howard, show him to my room after? It's on base, so you'll be closer." Steve turned back to Tony, speaking softly now, "I have to talk to my men now… I'll see you later?"

Nodding slowly, Tony accepted the key the blond had handed him with a wink, watching as Steve turned and headed back to a loud table of rough-looking soldiers.

He felt a hand clap his back, "Well, little brother… you have some good taste," Howard teased.

Tony rolled his eyes.

A while later, the combat soldier managed to get a rather intoxicated Howard back to his room and locate Steve's room a short distance down the hall. He opened the door, glancing around at the rather sparse accommodations, eyes finally settling on the standard issue army cot against the wall. There were no other beds in the room.

He stared at the neatly made bed, indecisive.

Still hesitating, he reconsidered the episode with Steve and Agent Carter at the bar. Was there something between the two? Tony's heart sank. Of course there was. Steve was… _Steve. _He was courageous, loyal, and now more handsome than any man had a right to be.

Peggy was perfect for him, elegant, tough, and independent. Not to mention she was a knockout.

They were the perfect couple, and he… he was scarred, worn out, and – according to his brother – didn't smile enough.

He felt his heart clench. He had no right to stay, really; he should get a room somewhere. He chewed his split lip and tasted blood as he considered.

It was too late now.

Making a decision, he tugged out his ground sheet and rolled up in it. Using his duffle as a pillow, he settled on the floor near the far wall, his back protected.

Yawning, Tony lay there awake. His tired body ached for sleep, but his mind wouldn't let him.

What if what happened at Basic had just been a fluke? Steve had been scared and vulnerable… perhaps Steve had not taken it to mean anything. Sure, he'd written Tony, but only as a friend would. At the time, Tony had assumed it was in case his letters fell into the wrong hands. Now, though…

His fingers touched the well-worn picture in his pocket. If Steve just wanted to be friends, then so be it. As long as he got to be near him, it was good enough for Tony.

Resigned, Tony finally drifted off to sleep, unmindful of the concrete floor.


	4. Part 4

Author's Note: Another fabulously beta'd chapter by the talented ravingbeauty!

WARNING MAN-MAN LOVING! If you don't like it, don't read it.

Remember Me

Part 4:

_You can't say that civilization don't advance, however, for in every war they kill you in a new way. – Will Rogers_

Steve was impatient. He shifted in his chair, checking the time yet again, crossing and uncrossing his arms, sighing heavily.

Bucky noticed and leaned over. "Somewhere better to be?" he asked, grinning conspiratorially, remembering the bombshell in red from earlier.

Steve turned to look at him, a delicate flush on his cheeks, "Don't know what you're talking about." Chuckling, his childhood friend turned back to the others while Steve decided he'd stayed long enough. "Early morning boys, I'm calling it a night," he said, standing amid wolf whistles and catcalls. Ignoring it all, Steve headed out of the bar.

The super soldier picked up his pace outside, eager to return to his room where Tony was waiting. Still unable to believe the man was here in England, Steve was giddy with anticipation.

It had taken Steve some weeks after their first night to reconcile himself to what had happened. He'd agonized through weeks of doubt and indecisiveness.

In the end, though, he hadn't been able to deny what his heart was saying. He'd fallen in love with a solemn, scarred, courageous soldier. He knew it was wrong, knew they probably had no chance. Homosexuality was a sin, but he was willing to risk heaven and hell itself to be beside the man.

He entered the compound quickly, waving to the sentries absentmindedly.

Hurrying to his room, Steve opened the door slowly; unsurprised it was dark and quiet, he stepped in and closed the door gently. He shrugged out of his overcoat, pausing when he realized the bed was empty.

His heart dipped in his chest while his mind frantically tried to rationalize… maybe Tony had decided it was easier to stay with Howard. Trying to tamp down his jealously, he chided himself; Tony hadn't seen Howard in months.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Steve glanced around his small room, finally noticing the lump against the wall. Eyes wide, he walked over to find Tony wrapped in his ground sheet, curled up as small as possible on the cold floor. Steve felt his heart lurch at the sight. Kneeling, he bent and lifted the now much smaller figure into his arms.

Tony woke instantly, lashing out on instinct, and landed a good right hook to Steve's jaw. The man grunted and Tony, awake now, blinked. "Oh, Steve. Jeez, I'm sorry… you surprised me," he apologized. Then he glanced around, disoriented. "Why are you carrying me?" he asked softly as Steve sat him on the bed.

"Why are you sleeping on the floor?" Steve returned.

Tony just looked at him, blinking in the sudden light as Steve switched on the bedside lamp. "I ummm…" What did he say? "I wasn't sure," he finished softly, looking away as a slight blush stained his high cheekbones.

Steve stared, frowning in confusion. Reaching out to grasp the stubbled chin, turning Tony's face toward him focusing on dark eyes. "Why? I thought… I was thinking…" Steve was suddenly unsure; perhaps he had been wrong, maybe Tony hadn't felt the same.

As Tony looked into Steve's blue eyes, the emotions crossing his face were easy to read. His own normally stern features softened into a smile. Tony reached out and cupped that handsome face in his rough hand. Leaning forward, he kissed him softly, experimentally, giving Steve time to pull away.

He didn't.

They kissed for long, slow minutes before drawing back. Steve rested their foreheads together with a chuckle. "We certainly are a pair," he teased as Tony returned the grin.

They sat side by side on the narrow cot, Steve in his unbuttoned shirt, still wearing pants and boots, and Tony in his dirty combats. They held each other's gaze as Steve reached out slowly, unbuttoning the other man's shirt.

There was no urgency, no rush this time, just a determined need. They had all night.

In what seemed to be no time at all, both men were stripped to their underwear and took the time to look each other over. Running his hands over the toned muscles and acres of smooth skin, Tony was barely able to reconcile this strong, virile man with the small, skinny kid he'd first met. Meanwhile Steve reached out, gently tracing the twisting white lines that adorned the man before him; he saw so much strength there, and so much pain.

They kissed again, deeper now, as hands wandered to the waistbands of their underclothes. This time when Tony stripped his off, Steve followed suit. Nervous, they looked down at the same moment. Steve grinned, finally seeing the man that had haunted his dreams naked; Tony was perfect. Suddenly giddy, Tony was having the same relieved thoughts.

Now Tony couldn't imagine why he'd been so worried. Laughing, relieved, he crawled into the bigger man's lap as they fell backwards onto the cot. Pressed together from lips to ankles, they tasted and touched one another, moaning as their naked erections ground together teasingly.

Pent up passion and longing made a heady combination as they arched into one another. Kissing his lover on the mouth one last time, Tony began to slide down the large body, kissing across well-defined abs and moving lower.

Eyes closed, Steve moaned as lips traced along his hip before reaching his straining erection. Blue eyes flew open as he felt Tony engulf him, sucking hard. "Tony!" he cried, torn between wanting to pull him off and wanting to buck into that hot mouth. The dark haired man, new to this but enthusiastic, took as much as he could, spurred on by the hands tangling in his hair and the deep groans of pleasure.

Steve was losing it. Like the last time, that tight coiling heat was building in his belly. "Tony!" he gasped out, trying to warn him as he gave into the pleasure. The smaller man was caught off guard and hurriedly swallowed, coughing a little. Steve, sweaty and panting, looked down at the man, smiling at him.

"That feel good?" Tony asked hesitantly.

Steve grinned in response. Just looking at Tony – lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes even darker than usual – Steve felt himself growing hard again. Tony laughed as he crawled back up Steve's muscular body and kissed him hard, his own weeping erection begging for release.

"Steve," Tony whispered between kisses, as the other man hummed and arched teasingly against him. "I want you."

Fighting a blush, Steve was confused. "How do we...?" he asked, trailing off.

Tony's well-kissed lips twisted in a smile, "I think we can muddle through it together." Tony talked big, but he had never actually gone this far with another man before; hadn't really gotten past kissing another man, to be honest. Though he knew the mechanics of how it worked, theory and reality were two separate things. But he wanted Steve so much it hurt…

Steve felt rough callused fingers against his lips. On instinct he took them in his mouth, sucking, feeling the man on top of him shudder in response. Replacing fingers with lips, Tony kissed Steve deeply as he slipped his slick digits inside himself. Working quickly, he stretched himself, focusing on nothing save his desperate want. Soon he was steadying himself over Steve's erection. Curious, the larger man watched as Tony moved, lowering himself onto him with determination. Eyes wide, Steve felt the tight ring of muscle give way as he slid slowly inside, groaning at the heat of the sinewy body above him.

Tony scrunched his eyes closed, trying to breathe deep; it hurt like hell.

"Tony?" Steve asked softly. "You ok?"

The dark haired man nodded sharply, "Yes." The pain was beginning to fade to a dull throb, leaving him feeling full and stretched. Shifting slightly, Tony gasped at the sensations the small movement had caused.

Below him, Steve was trying desperately not to move. Already pushed to the breaking point, he gripped Tony's lean hips tightly in an attempt to keep still. "Don't…" the larger man said, but Tony was already moving again, shuddering as pleasure rippled through him.

Steve's control snapped abruptly. Wrapping a muscular arm around Tony's slender waist, he flipped them, the cot audibly protesting his sudden movement. Grunting the smaller man bit his lip to keep from crying out; then Steve shifted, hitting something deep inside that made stars dance behind his eyes and his body thrum in pleasure. To Steve, the soft whimpers and groans in his ear were more erotic than the slender man screaming his name.

Tony gasped as Steve began thrusting into him – slowly at first, but gaining speed and strength with each movement. As they thrust together, the slick sounds of sex filled the room, echoed by the clink of dog tags and the groan of bedsprings. Arching into each thrust, Tony dug blunt fingernails into the broad back and wrapped lean legs more tightly around his lover's waist.

Tony was a mess, overwhelmed by sensation; he could feel himself getting closer, delicious friction driving him beyond reason. In a moment of clarity, he raised dark eyes to look up at Steve; taking in the furrowed brow and the sweat beaded on his forehead, Tony grinned and leaned up to kiss him once more. Moments later, gasping, he arched one final time. "Steve!" he breathed before he was coming, spilling hotly between them, clenching tightly around the blond man. Steve shuddered in response and, squeezing him tight, felt Tony gasping in his arms as he climaxed deep inside his lover.

They collapsed onto the bed in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs, sedate in the afterglow. Tony gently stroked sweat-damp blond hair, not minding the weight of his lover atop him.

Smiling, Steve pressed a kiss to his temple. "Feel good?" he asked.

Tony was smiling that beautiful smile he so rarely showed to the world. "It was unbelievable," he chuckled. He shifted, wrinkling his nose as he noticed the sticky mess cooling on his chest and abdomen. "I don't suppose we could sneak a shower?" he asked idly, imagining a hot shower; it had been a long time.

Steve rolled off of his lover, frowning as Tony winced. "Tony?" he asked worriedly, watching as the other man sat up slowly, rubbing his lower back.

"It's nothing," Tony whispered, standing unsteadily, muscles he didn't know he had protesting. He didn't care, though; it hurt a hell of a lot less than getting shot.

They tugged trousers back on, Steve watching as the lean man fished a cigarette out and lit it up. The glow bathed his scarred face briefly; exhaling, he turned back and lifted a curious brow. Steve said nothing, simply stepped forward and tenderly kissed his rough cheek. Without a word he led them two doors down to a large tiled shower room.

Barely able to contain himself, Tony stubbed out his butt and stripped quickly, groaning happily as he hurried under the hot spray. Moaning in pure bliss, he closed his eyes in pleasure.

Steve watched, a sad smile gracing his features. How long had it been since the scarred man had a shower? How long had he been on the front lines? In heavy combat, with no way out, enemy at his back? Pushing away his dour thoughts, Steve stepped into the shower as well, pulling him close. Dog tags clinked softly as they lathered up between kisses and whispers.

Eventually they headed back to Steve's room, the blond making sure his lover was in bed with him this time. Pressed together, Tony half lay on the larger man, neither caring the bed was too small for both of them.

"I missed you so much," Tony said softly. "When I saw Agent Carter tonight in the bar I thought that maybe you and her…" he trailed off.

Steve blinked, "No, there's nothing between us, she's a nice gal and all." He shrugged wide shoulders. She was very pretty, but Steve's heart belonged to the lean man in his arms. "Sleep…" he whispered as Tony gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "0500 comes awful early…"

-#-#-#-

Grinning, Steve felt like his face would split in half. He listened keenly to Colonel Phillips as he filled them in on upcoming mission… but Captain Rogers was thinking of Lieutenant Stark.

The lithe man had been up first, dressing quickly. Steve had watched him shrug into his gear for training, heart fluttering at the dashing figure he cut. Turning to face him, helmet in hand, Tony kissed him goodbye, "See you later?" Nodding, Steve had watched him depart, sappy grin tugging at his lips as the door closed quietly.

Now Steve sat in the briefing room, wondering how the training was going. Whether Tony was safe…

"This operation will coincide with the upcoming Allied Operation set to launch June 6th, code name D-Day." Steve perked up, interested; this was the operation Tony was to participate in. "The aim is for this to be the final push into Berlin. It's a massive undertaking involving paratrooper drops and amphibious landings on the beaches of Normandy." Steve blinked, all attention on the Colonel as he continued, "The higher-ups are predicting heavy casualties on this one, folks, and they want Captain America to give them some good news. They need you to deliver, Rogers." Nodding, the blond sat stunned as the Colonel dismissed them, the others murmuring and whispering as they filed out. Steve didn't move, though, hearing the echo of his words over and over… "_expecting heavy casualties."_

"Steve?" a voice cut through the haze. Steve looked up, his blue gaze meeting almost-familiar eyes. Where Tony's eyes were a deep chocolate brown, Howard's were a lighter hazel. "I'm worried for Tony," he whispered, glancing around to make sure they weren't overheard.

Steve nodded slowly, "Me, too…" A hand gripped his shoulder briefly before the inventor left him to his thoughts.

Steve walked through the rest of his day in a daze, first briefing his men, and then completing his own training. It was late afternoon when he finally made it back to Howard's lab to go over some costume designs. He finally entered the doors to a very amusing sight – Howard was fussing around a very long-suffering Anthony Stark.

"Tony, stand still," Howard chastened as he yanked at some sort of vest he had the man wearing.

"Yes, well the last time you said that I ended up on fire," the younger brother said, looking rather worried but letting Howard do whatever it was all the same. Steve approached the pair of siblings, catching Tony's eyes first. The man gave him a small grin as a blush spread across his hollow cheeks. Steve needed to get him some decent food.

"What's this, then?" he asked the genius, leaning against one of the worktables.

"Protective armor for a soldier," Howard replied, checking the fit. "I want it to stop a bullet completely."

Tony's smile disappeared as he looked down at the bulky thing protecting his chest, "It's too heavy, brother. A soldier needs to run and move… Stopping a bullet is great, but it's better to be able to get out of its way altogether."

Howard Stark stopped suddenly. "You're a genius!" he cried, rushing off to the far side of the room and leaving the other two men alone for the moment.

Steve itched to pull him into his arms and kiss him… All day he'd been trying to formulate a plan, thinking of some way to get him out of that upcoming operation. "How was training?" Steve asked, watching the smaller man try to move in the bulky armor. Tony managed to get nearer to the blond, but was unable to bend his arms, stuck as he was for the moment.

"Alright. Cold, though. We were running in and out of the Channel," Tony said absently, looking down at his bulky armor. "How was your briefing?"

Steve just shrugged in response.

"You done for the day, want to go get some dinner?" the blond asked softly. Surprised, Tony glanced up at him, feeling warmth seep into his chest.

"Good plan," Howard interrupted. "Your outfit isn't ready, Steve, come back tomorrow. On a side note, I've booked you lovebirds a room at the Grand down the street." Tony raised an amused brow at his nosy brother as Howard handed over the key to Steve. Both men blushed but were grinning at the same. "Enjoy, little brother," he said, helping Tony out of the gear and shooing them both out of the lab.

"So, about that dinner. You buying, Captain?" Tony glanced up at his companion, laughing with the tall blond as they disappeared down the hallway.

Howard watched them go, chest aching with sadness. All he had wanted was for his little brother to be happy – God knew he deserved it. Tony was what one would call an old soul. Serious and reserved, he'd never given Howard a moment's trouble after the untimely death of their parents.

Howard had always known his brother was… different. Then one day Tony had come home and told him he'd joined up, was going to serve. Howard had been so angry, how could his brother think of doing such a thing?

To Howard, the army had seemed to be certain death. Later he'd pieced it together, realized that Tony had been thinking much the same way.

But Tony's exploits in Africa had made him a hero – and then he'd nearly been lost in Italy.

The inventor sighed sadly, wishing not for the first time that he wasn't so limited. "We're both prisoners of our time, Tony," he said softly. He picked up a helmet off the table and examined it. With a full faceplate and slit eyeholes, it looked almost medieval. Tossing the prototype aside, he looked over to the round metal shield, now bearing the red, white, and blue. He smiled slowly at the sight. "Be happy," he whispered before turning back to his work and pushing the impending invasion out of his head.

-#-#-#-

Steve was in agony. Being so close to the one you love and not being able to touch them was torture. Dinner had been wonderful, a dimly lit little restaurant, private and quiet. Now they walked the near deserted streets, the incessant bombings having made people fearful to be out in the open. They walked close, but not touching. Tony, hands stuffed in his pockets to avoid the temptation, puffed on a cigarette in the summer night air.

They did pass the odd couple holding hands, pressed close, laughing without a care in the world. Each man was a little jealous, wishing they too could show affection so openly.

The couple paused on a bench, watching the Thames flow sluggishly by. Tony exhaled softly, calm in the peace of the evening. Secure in a dark corner of the park, Steve tentatively reached out and took the callused hand of his lover, happy when he felt him squeeze back.

They sat quiet and contemplative in the moonlight until Steve broke the silence, "Tony?" As the dark haired man hummed in reply, the blond took a deep breath. "Join my Commandos," he said, turning to look at him. "I could use a good Lieutenant and we would be together…" he trailed off into silence, heart sinking as the smaller man looked at him sadly and slowly shook his head.

"You know as well as I do, Steve. I can't leave my men," Tony answered as he squeezed the solid hand tightly.

Steve's shoulders slumped. He knew, just as he knew he wouldn't leave his own men. It had been desperation and heartache that drove him to ask; he would give anything to keep Tony safe. "I don't want you to go on that operation," Steve confessed. "HQ is anticipating heavy casualties," he whispered, holding his hand tightly.

Tony's lips twisted, "I know… but I've made it this far." Pasting a small smile on his face, he turned to his lover, "Now, why don't we head back to the hotel my brother is so generously paying for?" Together they stood, hands separating as they walked a respectable distance apart, heading for the sanctuary of the promised room.


	5. Part 5

Author's Note: Thanks so much to my wonderful beta ravingbeauty you did it again! WARNING MAN ON MAN ACTION, so if you don't like don't read, and if perhaps you a sappy romantic like me… you may want to brace yourself.

Remember Me

Part 5:

_From this day to the ending of the world,  
But we in it shall be remember'd;  
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother – Henry V_

_William Shakespeare_

June 6, 1944 – France

Lieutenant Tony Stark, soggy cigarette clamped between clenched teeth, cursed as his light refused to take. He gave a grunt of victory as he finally succeeded, ignoring the heaving and pitching of the landing craft. Exhaling smoke, he pushed his helmet back and adjusted his gear, already soaked through with rain and sea spray.

Numb hands patted his pocket for the umpteenth time, finding the reassuring crinkle of Steve's photo. Scared young faces surrounded him, pale and worried under their helmets. The sound of retching reached him over the crashing of waves, accompanied by the soft sobs of terrified men.

He closed dark eyes briefly, separating himself from this hell. Recalling those brief, wonderful days he'd spent in the arms of his lover. The ache in his lower back served as a reminder of their fevered passion; desperate, they'd made love as if the morning would never come.

Tony opened his eyes once more, throwing his cigarette away as the officers yelled to prepare. Features betraying nothing of his own fear, he yelled to the terrified men looking to him for guidance. For a moment the faces of Steve and his brother passed before his mind's eye; their pleas to be safe and return to them rung in his head.

Then the ramp was falling and the sudden barrage of gunfire was on them. Taking a breath, he yelled at them to move out and ran onto the beach already littered with the dead and dying.

-#-#-#-

July 13, 1944 - England

"The factory was here… And we ended up detonating the explosives here and here," Captain America pointed at the map, brow furrowed in thought as he recalled the minute details. Their mission had been a success, another of Hydra's manufacturing operations destroyed. Newly returned from the Continent, the big blond and his commandos only wanted food, a shower, and sleep… and Steve knew he would sleep better if he knew Tony was alive.

In true military fashion, D-Day had not gone according to plan. As a matter of fact, it had been a borderline failure. The paratroop drop had scattered men across the country and the landing parties had sustained such heavy losses that entire companies had been reorganized. Almost a month later they were still trying to get word of those KIA and MIA.

Steve knew he wasn't the only one hoping and praying for word of one Lieutenant Stark.

"Steve!" a bellow came from down the hall. Bucky, Steve, Peggy, and Colonel Phillips all looked up in surprise as the eccentric inventor Howard Stark dashed into the control room, a piece of paper clutched in his hand.

"Howard?" the Captain looked up, worried at the rather manic look in the other man's eyes.

"It's him!" Howard was grinning ear-to-ear. Covered in grime and grease, he all but beamed as he hurried over to hand Steve the rumpled paper. The blond accepted it, scanning the first few lines of type as his face slowly broke into a grin as well.

"What is it?" Peggy asked him, red lips set in a rather irate frown.

Agent Carter had been rather cool towards him lately, Steve idly noted as he read aloud, "Report from France… town of Arras retaken by Allies… attack spearheaded by Lieutenant Stark of the 108th." The room broke out into yells and applause at the news as Howard looked on proudly, eyes glistening under his layer of grime.

"They're going to give him a medal," Howard said, chest swelling. "Another one." Laughing, the others all congratulated the proud brother and Steve felt his own chest warm with pride and relief; Tony was alive.

The others began to settle and Captain America turned back to his map, "Well then, let's give Lieutenant Stark a hand winning this war, shall we?"

-#-#-#-

August 29, 1944 - France

"Lieutenant Stark?" the young soldier ran amongst the men lounging in the humid August afternoon. Several pointed him in the right direction as the boy hurried past, calling out to the officer again.

"Boy, you need to stop yelling before a sniper picks you off," a husky voice said. The soldier stopped, blushing, in front of the man lying casually beneath a tree, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows in the heat. The men around him chuckled as Tony clarified, "I'm Lieutenant Stark."

The boy stammered as he tried to relay the Captain's message, "Want to talk to you at headquarters, sir."

Around him, men were shifting and muttering curiously. Sighing, the dark haired man looked around as he stood slowly. There were too many new faces in his unit now; he'd lost so many good men since June.

"Sending us on a fool's errand again, sir," one of the men called out.

"Sit tight, Summers," Tony directed the man. "Keep an eye out."

Following the lad back towards the makeshift HQ, the thin man lit a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of acrid smoke and wincing as he felt the pull in his thigh. A souvenir from D-Day, shrapnel had cut into his left thigh deeply. Although he'd also fractured his collarbone, it hadn't earned him a ticket home; instead, it had been a quick patch and a trip back to the front.

He'd been at the front ever since, waiting in vain for the damn mail. Lacking a reliable news source, he'd been listening to the men gossip. Rumors had been circulating that Captain America had once more taken on and won against Hydra. Tony had been proud.

Reaching his destination, the lanky man ducked and entered the shelled-out house that acted as their base of operations. "Ahh Stark, just the man for the job," the ranking officer greeted him. Captain Wilson was looking at him grimly and Tony sighed internally; no doubt they were about to once more offer him some attractive new way to end his life.

-#-#-#-

"Why are we out here again?" Smith muttered quietly, head pivoting to watch the trees around him for any sign of movement.

"Recon, now shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you," Summers hissed.

Tony ignored them both, keen ears picking up something. Abruptly he held up his fist, sinking to one knee, knowing his men were following suit. He listened hard, trying to hear beyond the night sounds of the wood. The noise came again, hauntingly familiar – it was the rattle of gunfire.

Tony began to move again quickly. Rifle at the ready, he led his troops through the underbrush, towards the intense sounds of battle. Reaching a clearing, they paused at the top of a hill while dark intelligent eyes quickly took in the skirmish below.

He had the situation at a glance. Motioning Summers to his side, he didn't think, just knew he had to act. There were soldiers down there – their own soldiers – and they were sorely outnumbered.

From his position on the hill, Tony could see a tank ponderously making its way towards the melee. Cursing under his breath, he turned to his second-in-command, "Take four men and all the potato mashers you have and take out that tank. Aim for the tracks." He motioned to the others, "We're going to help. Saunders and Smith, stay here use the high ground; choose your shots." The men nodded moving quickly and silently; a moment later Tony was leading the way towards the skirmish.

Within shooting distance now, he paused to crouch down for a moment; clearing his mind, he set his jaw, his scar a white slash across his face. "Noise and distraction," he muttered before he stood and fired, rewarded by a scream. They were part of it now, moving quickly to join the ranks of the others.

"Fire!" he bellowed, mind narrowing to nothing but the moment.

He wasn't sure which side was more surprised by their sudden arrival, the enemy or their allies. It took the latter only a few heartbeats to realize they were in good company. Renewed by the reinforcements, the others moved forward. Tony grunted in satisfaction as the tank exploded, lighting up the night, the burning machine casting illumination onto the carnage. The enemy, confused and disoriented, unable to determine exactly how many new reinforcements had come, was collapsing. Deciding to cut their losses, the enemy turned tail and scattered into the forest. Tony dropped one more before he lifted his hand to keep his men from giving chase.

Adrenaline still pounding through him, Tony surveyed the scene. Using hand signals he ordered his men to check the dead for weapons and ammo. Another gesture had Summers hurrying to his side. "Causalities?" Tony asked, monotone, as he dumped an empty magazine and, tapping a new one to his helmet before reloading.

"Three, sir – Talbot, Michaels, and Thompson." Nodding to acknowledge Summers' report, Tony reached for a smoke. After lighting the end of cigarette, he finally turned his attention to the unit they'd helped out.

"Who's ranking officer here?" Tony called out, exhaling smoke. As the small band of weary-looking men parted, Tony thought his battle-addled mind had finally snapped. Standing there larger than life, bathed in the glow from the burning tank, was a figure with shield – Captain America. It took only a heartbeat for Tony's face split into a grin as his men did a double take; Lieutenant Stark did not smile.

"I am," the deep voice resonated as Steve stepped forward, trying to see the face of the helmeted man. "Thank you for the back u-" he stopped short, eyes bugging out of his head, as Tony stepped forward. "Tony?" he asked in disbelief.

"In the flesh," Tony answered. Laughing, the pair embraced quickly, mindful of their audience as curious men approached from both sides.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, stepping back amazed. In the middle of the French woods and he runs into the one man…

"On recon, saw you needed a little help," Tony shrugged, turning to his own men. "Boys, Captain America." There was a collective murmur of excitement as they approached with hands extended.

Things were rather chaotic then as the men finished the cleanup and Steve filled Tony in, "We were headed back from the latest munitions factory when they caught us by surprise and cornered us. Thanks for the back-up."

Tony shrugged modestly, "Right place, right time." Then they all retreated back into the forest, away from the now smoldering remains of the battle, Tony and his men leading Captain America and his Commandos back to their camp.

-#-#-#-

As they approached the sentries, Tony called out in a low voice, "Flash."

The reply came in a relieved tone, "Thunder."

"Sir," the guards greeted Tony as they shouldered their arms. Then as the rest of the party approached, the two young lads stared in slack-jawed amazement, "Captain America?" Nodding, Steve gave them a salute.

The camp was quiet, or at least as quiet as it got near the fighting, with men tucked away in any place they could find shelter. Dismissing his men to get some sleep, Steve followed Tony closely as he led the way to the makeshift command.

Once they made their way inside the shelled out house, Tony watched, amused, as Captain Wilson was beside himself, falling all over Captain America. The big blond, of course, took it all in stride. Waiting patiently, Tony finally got to give his account of the night's activities and was dismissed.

Excusing himself soon after, the super soldier was quick to follow Tony outside.

-#-#-#-

Tony paused outside. The moon was full, yellow; looking up at the sky, he tried to quiet his thumping heart, sure everyone for miles could hear it.

Steve approached the smaller man, about to speak when he was stopped by a callused hand touching his wrist. Holding a finger to his lips, Tony motioned for him to follow. Thrilled, and more than a little eager, the pair snuck out of the camp and some distance back into the woods, their way lit by the heavy August moon.

Well out of earshot and completely alone, Tony stopped and turned to face the handsome blond. Now inches apart, they ran eager eyes over one another, each scarcely believing the other was there.

"I can't believe you're here," Steve whispered as he reached out, tugging Tony close and kissing him.

Though the kiss began gently, pent up emotion from months of separation erupted in an almost violent passion. The adrenaline from the fight coupled with their almost desperate need made them aggressive and demanding, mouths eagerly devouring one another. Time blurred for Tony as big hands tore at his pants and gripped the dark haired man's raging erection. Grunting, he thrust into the questing palm as he moved to tug Steve's costume down, strangely aroused he was doing this to Captain America.

Nudging his lover backwards to rest against a crumbling stone wall, Tony pulled Steve's pants down far enough down to allow the big man's erection to spring free. Desperate, Tony kissed him fiercely. "I need you," he pleaded, his tone almost frantic. Dirty, bruised hands fumbled with his pants as Tony hurriedly pulled them to mid thigh and lowered himself over the larger man's lap.

"Tony," Steve whispered, lightheaded as he felt Tony's impossibly tight heat pressing down onto him. With no preparation he was sliding dryly, painfully into his lover. Tony bit his lips hard enough to draw blood, it hurt so much, it had been so long since they were together; but he wanted this, needed this.

"Tony, easy. You'll hurt yourself," his lover said as his strong hands stopped Tony from lowering his hips further, allowing him to adjust before sinking down the rest of the way onto him.

Both men groaned at the heat and the contact. Panting, Tony leaned back against that muscled chest; dark eyes, dazed with lust, looked skyward towards the full moon, the only witness to their illicit tryst.

Tony rolled his hips, causing Steve to grip him tighter.

"Easy…" Steve pleaded. His tenuous hold on his control was unraveling fast. Then Tony moved again, snapping that control like only he could. They rocked together, moving erratically, fervently. After Tony felt a hand grip him from behind, jerking him in time with the rapid movements, he didn't last long; with another thrust he was coming, shooting into the large fist gripping him. Steve followed his lover seconds later, wrapping an arm around his chest tightly as he cried out, biting down hard on the man's shoulder to muffle his cries.

Spent, Tony leaned into him, panting softly, eyes closed, lip bleeding sluggishly, just content to be in the embrace of the man he loved.

Steve kissed his sweaty forehead and held him tightly, still joined intimately together. It had been elemental. They had seen death again and again, so close they could taste it; and tonight they had felt alive for the first time in a long while.

Neither wanted to break the spell that had fallen on them, as if moving would somehow shatter the dream. Grudgingly Tony moved first, gingerly standing as he felt Steve slip from his body. Tugging up his pants, he left his belt undone as he moved to sit next to his lover and lit a cigarette in the stillness. Following suit, Steve adjusted his pants, leaning against the man beside him.

The silence remained unbroken. There were things between them unsaid – dangerous things, like the future. The war would eventually end, as all wars did, and then what? Did they dare hope they would live through this? Tony's lips twisted ironically, hope was a dangerous thing.

"Steve?" he asked softly. The man turned to look at him steadily, honest face unusually solemn tonight. "Do you believe in fate?" he asked.

The blond man blinked, surprised, frowning. "To some extent, I guess… why do you ask?"

Tony shrugged as the smoldering tip of the cigarette illuminated his face briefly. "I never did… until I met this skinny blond kid at my brother's show."

Steve smiled slowly, nodding in agreement. As silence descended again a sudden picture flashed across his mind's eye – he and Tony lying in a sun drenched field, no war, no pain, just them. It was so blinding and achingly tender he caught his breath as he reached out to pull the man close. It was a dream so far out of his reach he wanted to rail against the unfairness of the world.

"I have to leave in the morning," Steve spoke softly, breaking the silence now.

"Tony…" he began his tone a whispered plea.

The smaller man gripped him back tightly. "Don't you dare," Tony whispered fervently, his grip tightening almost painfully. "Don't you dare say goodbye." He stared into blue eyes, "I love you, Steven Rogers," he said as if confessing some sin. "I know it's not right or natural, but it doesn't stop me from loving you more than any man has a right to."

Their foreheads rested together. "I can't imagine life without you," Steve felt tears gathering in his eyes, "I love you, too, Anthony Stark."

Tony's own eyes were burning, "So no goodbyes, never goodbyes. Only until we meet again."

Steve closed those deep blue eyes in pain, his heart aching, and bit his lip, "Until we meet again."


	6. Part 6

Author's Note: Rereading this…omg what a heartbreaker! Have no idea what I was doing.

Thank you to my amazing beta ravingbeauty for getting this all cleaned up, and doing such a wonderful story justice for me.

Remember Me

Part 6: 

_Old soldiers never die; they simply fade away – General Douglas MacArthur _

January 12, 1945 - Belgium

He knew something was terribly wrong. A hollow ache had settled in his chest, one that he knew was not just from the cold of this place. It was an ache he knew would never leave him. Somehow he'd known. Known the moment he had lost him.

His brother's letter had come with the last letter from Steve. Determination and resolution rolling off the page with every word, the letter had told him he was going to put an end to Hydra once and for all; it was going to be the final confrontation. Just as they were knocking on Berlin's door here, Steve was going to end the evil machinations of Hydra.

Howard's letter had told him of the resolution of that final assault. Captain America had saved the world… but at the price of his own life. Tony's hands trembled violently, almost ripping the paper, but his face never changed. His felt his heart breaking in his already numb chest. He reread the final line again and again:

_I will search for him, little brother, and I will find him._

Lieutenant Anthony Stark carefully put away the folded paper. Eyes hot and dry, he took a moment to light a cigarette, using the familiar gesture as a vain attempt to steady his nerves, to center his wildly gyrating mind. Pulling off his helmet he ran a trembling hand through his hair, almost hoping a sniper would get him.

He was so cold here; this damn place was so cold.

Smoke puffed out before Tony as he exhaled. They had been in this godforsaken place for a month, but things were finally moving. They were going to break this line, even if it broke him in the process. They were getting closer everyday; Hitler was scared. Tony had foolishly dared to hope for a future. Now – just like that – he'd lost him. Somewhere in the cold and ice, just like he was now.

A soft snow began to fall. Dark eyes turned skyward to watch the fluffy white flakes descend before melting against his bruised and swollen face. He'd been hit several days earlier by a tree limb during a barrage that had brought a mighty pine crashing right onto his foxhole. He rubbed absently at the bridge of his nose; the deep cut there kept opening up, blood freezing quickly.

God he wanted to cry. If that would bring Steve back, he would in a heartbeat. But he was gone. And all Tony could do was keep moving. What was one more soldier in this war? He hoped against hope that perhaps Howard would find him, and if not…

His eyes slid closed as he whispered, "Wait for me…" the tears beginning to leak from the corner of his eyes, tracking across his dirty, bloody face. "Remember me."

-#-#-#-

May 22, 2012 – New York

_Heart pounding, he whirled in growing confusion and fear. Where was he? What was happening? Gasping for breath as if he'd run a great distance, he was unable to comprehend the lights and sounds. _

"_At ease, soldier," said a man dressed in black approaching briskly. Steve locked onto the man, looking for a lifeline. "You've been asleep for some time, Captain Rogers," he spoke soothingly, like one would to a child. _

"_How long…?" he asked slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the seemingly impossible words._

"_Close to 70 years." The blond man was reeling, an image coming to his scattered mind, one of a laughing, smiling man in a sun drenched field… before it rebelled completely. 70 years… _

He woke with a gasp, chest aching, heart thumping so hard he was sure it would beat right out of his chest. Disoriented blue eyes blinked and glanced around the darkened room, the unfamiliar shapes disorienting and confusing him. It took long moments for his pounding heart to finally slow, before reality returned and he remembered… remembered everything. He slumped forward in the big, comfy bed. It wasn't a nightmare… it was real.

A large trembling hand ran through his tussled blond hair as he collected himself.

In the months after he'd been thawed and awakened, Steve Rogers had been forced to come to grips with some bitter realities. His world was gone; his time was gone. Now he was running to catch up. Only he didn't want to, didn't want to be in this place. He wanted to go home… and home was where his lover was. His battered heart thrummed weakly at the thought. It was a painfully cruel reality he was facing – Tony was gone.

He got out of the bed, not caring the sheets were a tangled mess, and moved out of the room, into the dark of the silent tower. His feet took him on a now familiar route, upwards to the top of the tower where he'd look out over the now unfamiliar skyline.

The wind whipped across his overheated body, cool and soothing as he leaned against the railing staring off at the dark horizon. His restless mind once more tried to assimilate this new time, and all that had happened to him.

His mission, his reason for being awakened, had been accomplished; Loki was defeated, the Avengers were a new force for the Earth, a deterrent to other worlds. Still here he was, wandering through this life like a ghost, half in this world and half wanting to be in the next.

Everyone he'd known had been taken from him. When he'd been told how long he'd been frozen, it had been overwhelming. Amongst the painful realizations, though, there had been the faintest of hopes – Anthony Stark, son of Howard Stark.

Steve had been floored when he'd heard the name – Tony… His desperate heart had been eager to meet the man, hoping for what he didn't know. And then when he'd finally seen him out of his Iron Man suit, Steve had been rendered speechless; his knees had wobbled and the breath had completely left him.

He was the spitting image of his uncle.

Heartbreakingly like his Tony, so achingly close… and still so far away. His personality had been large like Howard's, talkative and showy.

His Tony had been quiet, reserved… strong and silent.

Steve had been angry then. Angry at himself for hoping, angry at the world for forcing him back. Lashing out in hurt and desperation, he'd been angry at Tony Stark; all he wanted was _his_ Tony, not this look-alike.

It wasn't until after Steve had seen Tony in action that he'd begun to change his mind. Beneath that loud, flashy façade Steve had seen glimpses of his Tony. When he'd saved them all from the missile… willing to lay down his life…

The memory made his gasp in physical pain as he slowly slid to the floor, tears streaming from his eyes. "He's so much like you…" he whispered, succumbing to his silent sorrow.

-#-#-#-

Unbeknownst to the blond, someone was watching – the man he'd been thinking of so painfully.

Watching and worrying.

Tony Stark did not sleep much these days, or at least he hadn't since Captain America had been defrosted. Seated in his lab, he watched the balcony camera trained on the slumped and dejected man. He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustrated and helpless.

At the beginning he'd been so excited to meet the man. He had grown up on legends of Captain America and his father's tales of bravery and valor during the war. Cap had been the world's first super soldier and Tony's personal hero. Then, for some reason he could not fathom, Steve Rogers had not liked him. For the longest time, he'd thought Steve hated him. They had been oil and water… and the genius billionaire had not been able to understand why.

They had eventually reached an uneasy truce, and then a friendship had formed, young and tentative. Yet Tony knew the big guy was holding back. Something was keeping him in the past.

Then his nightmares had begun. Not Afghanistan, not his war, not his nightmares… but like he was remembering someone else's memories. It was confusing and frustrating and he'd thought he was losing his mind.

Why was he seeing battles of World War II? He knew the places somehow – North Africa, Italy, France, Belgium… Germany. The dreams hadn't been just the battles, though. There were dreams of Captain America. Except he wasn't Captain America… he was Steve, and the dreams were erotic, passion filled, and full of love. They left him feeling heartbroken and alone, like he'd lost something precious, his chest aching more than when he'd had his arc reactor installed.

Now, months later, the dreams still plagued him and his worry about the blond man was stealing his sleep as well. He knew Steve was crying. He knew he went there almost every night to sit. Tony wanted to fix him… but Steve wasn't one of his inventions and he had no idea what he could do. He wondered, not for the first time, if he should confide in the blond, tell him of his dreams… perhaps Steve would understand.

But each time he chickened out.

So every night Tony sat watching the little drama play out. Every time Tony wanted to go hug him and promise that everything would be ok. His emotions were a confusing jumble, as if his own were competing with another's.

One thing was clear, though – all he wanted was for Steve to smile again… to live again.

A sudden thought occurred to him, making him pause. He frowned; it seemed like someone else's idea, someone else whispering in his mind. He wanted to bash his head against the workbench, but the voice was soft and persistent. Surrendering, he sighed, "Maybe dad could help."

Galvanized into action he hurried upwards, avoiding Steve as he made his way to the top of the Tower. "JARVIS, get my suit," he ordered. Tony snapped on his bracelets, diving off the tower as the suit formed around him, and blasted off into the night.

-#-#-#-

Steve woke slowly, the morning light shining across his face. He blinked, shifting in discomfort; he must have fallen asleep. He was still sitting outside, the sun warm and comforting. He closed his eyes again and turned his face towards the heat, enjoying the warmth.

Tony's breath caught as he approached. The big man wore only a plain white t-shirt and boxer shorts, while the sun seemed to halo his head – it was an arresting image. He paused, undecided, wondering if he should let things be. Then shaking off his doubts, he continued as the voice urged him on. Steve needed this… and somehow he thought he needed this as well.

"Steve?" he spoke softly, the man turned to look at him, confusion evident on his face. "I have something you need to see." Features solemn, he settled beside the man on the floor, sliding the metal box toward him; for once he had no sarcastic comments. "It was in dad's things."

Curious, Steve opened the metal box, revealing a faded envelope addressed to him. Large hands lifted it slowly, revealing the other contents of the box.

Tony heard Steve gasp as the colour drained from his face.

Worried, Tony glanced down, lifting an eyebrow as he saw what had caught Steve's attention. It looked like a picture of himself wearing a faded uniform, circa WWII. The man in the picture, though, had a scar arching across his face, his expression solemn and serious… a hint of something in his eyes.

Tony knew who it was in a heart beat, "That's my uncle, the one I'm named for." His father had rarely spoken of his younger brother, as if the memory had been too painful for him. He watched Steve pull out the photo, setting it aside carefully before checking the rest of the box: dog tags, a folded American flag, and medals, including a Medal of Honor. Tony sucked in a breath at the sight; he knew his Uncle had been a war hero and that his father had held him in the highest esteem, a place he seemed to reserve for only two men. But he hadn't known his uncle had been a Medal of Honor recipient. There were photos of Steve as well, the edges rounded and well worn, something brown staining the corner of one.

Steve said nothing. His heart beat painfully as unrelenting memories dragged painfully across his consciousness. The beloved, scarred face was back in sharp relief, smiling, looking at him with love.

Carefully Steve turned back to the envelope, opening it with trembling hands. Inside was a letter folded around another, smaller envelope. He read the letter first,

_June 11, 1981_

_Dear Steve,_

_I'm not sure why I am writing you today, as I have spent the better part of the last several decades searching for you with no success. I never truly believed you were dead, but simply waiting for a time when you would be needed again. I do believe that you will be needed again, that this world will have call for Captain America once more. For my brother's sake, though, I wish I had been able to find you._

_I am torn for him, Steve. He was never happier than he was with you. You gave him the freedom to be who he was, you gave him hope, and most of all you gave him love. I thank you for that; I thank you for giving him a reason to go on. _

_My son turned seven today, perhaps that is why am I am in such a contemplative mood. I see my brother in him. The way he looks, the way he acts… he is my son, but I think my brother is there, too. I am a man of science, not given much to fanciful thoughts, but if reincarnation exists, I would like to believe that somehow, someway my brother was reborn with him. _

_Should this letter ever find you, I want you know what became of him, that ragged hero. He made it to the end, all the way to Berlin. He saw V-E Day, but only lived a week after that. The doctors said it was pneumonia, but deep down I think he just couldn't live without you._

_I don't blame you, Steve, I never have… and I hope that if you did die in that crash that the two of you are together again and happy wherever that maybe. Take care of yourself, Steve, and if you find Tony again, take care of him, too._

_Howard_

Steve let the letter slip from his limp fingers as he sat back, overwhelmed.

Tony, far too nosy for his own good, had read the letter along with him, leaning into the other man. Dots connected in his mind; with all he'd seen in this world it did not seem all that farfetched that he may perhaps be sharing his uncle's memories. Glancing back at the other man, Tony was distressed to see the tears running down his face, recognizing the desperate look of a man whose wounds had been violently reopened.

Tony didn't say a word. Without a thought, he wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling him close. He felt the big frame shaking and shuddering in his sorrow, touching Tony deeply. Steve and his uncle… they had been lovers. It seemed somewhat farfetched, but at the same time, so perfect.

Eventually they drew apart, "Sorry…" Steve muttered weakly, eyes puffy and swollen.

Sniffing, Tony scrubbed at his own face, "Nothing to be sorry for."

Then Steve picked up the small envelope, biting his lip as he recognized the writing immediately – Tony. He opened it slowly, carefully, unfolding the crinkled, faded paper delicately, almost afraid of what it would say.

_May 8, 1945_

_We won, Steve. We won, and I lived long enough to see this war through to the end. I don't think, however, that I will leave this place. I have made peace with that. I left many good men here and it is fitting that I, too, will be laid to rest with them. Don't be sad for me, Steve. I know we'll meet again. Not in this life, but perhaps the next. Remember me always as I will remember you, a skinny blond that made me believe in fate, made me believe in love. _

_Lieutenant Anthony Stark_

_108__th__ Infantry Division _

_United States Military _

Neither man said a word. For once in his life Tony was speechless. He didn't believe in destiny or fate… but his dreams of the past and the words of his uncle were beginning to make him a believer.

The sun was fully up now and Steve seemed calmer… more collected, the tears drying on his cheeks. He turned to the man next to him, smiling a little. "Did you know about your Uncle?" he asked, voice husky and low.

Tony shook his head slowly, "Dad rarely talked about him."

Steve nodded, "He'd never admit to it, but he was a hero."

-#-#-#-

May 8, 2013 – Belgium

The tall, broad figure walked amongst the bright white stones slowly. Row upon row of crosses stretched as far as the eye could see against a backdrop of almost too green grass. He wore his dress uniform, looking as neat and as pressed as he had in 1945. In his hand he held a bouquet of white roses. Keeping pace beside him was a smaller dark haired man wearing an expensive suit. The pair made a handsome couple in the bright sunlight.

They paused among the rows, locating the stone they were searching for, Lieutenant Anthony Stark.

Steve knelt, laying the roses near the stone, tucking away his sunglasses.

"Ok?" Steve felt a strong hand grip his shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, giving his boyfriend a smile.

Tony kissed his temple softly, "I'll give you a few minutes."

Nodding, Steve watched the man wander a little ways off, patiently waiting for him. The blond turned back to the grave marker, the silent white stone. Suddenly unsure of what he wanted to say. So much had happened in a year; a love had blossomed on the balcony over the contents of that metal box. He had fallen in love all over again with Tony Stark.

"I hope you don't mind," he said to the stone, smiling a little. Steve was sure this Tony and his were somehow connected. Though the 21st century had changed him, he was positive deep down that it was the same man he'd fallen in love with so many years ago. Today, though, he was saying goodbye to the past. "I'll always remember you," he said softly, recalling his promise.

Standing slowly, Steve turned away from the stone and looked to his lover; it was time to embrace the future. Tony was waiting for him. As he grasped the warm callused palm a sense of peace settled over him. He had found a place in this new world, and love. "Ready to go home?"

Nodding, the blond leaned down, kissing his dark haired man in full view of others, uncaring, marveling he could do so in this time. Parting, a surprised Tony smiled at him as the lovers walked, hand in hand, in the bright sunlight.

End


End file.
